Ready Player Two

“So I had nothing to worry about. Nothing at all. Just a giant metal spider locked onto my skull, about to interface with my brain.” 

The ONI technology becomes so normalized that nobody thinks twice about how strange and even unnerving it is to clamp this monstrous-looking device to one’s head and giving it access to the brain. Wade’s acknowledgement that there is something grotesque and unnatural about the ONI technology foreshadows the violence and chaos chronicled in the narrative. As the development and use of virtual reality gaming grows in the 21st century, it is worth pondering the implications of the steadily shrinking gap between humanity and machine.

“My friend Kira always said that life is like an extremely difficult, horribly unbalanced videogame. When you’re born, you’re given a randomly generated character, with a randomly determined name, race, face, and social class. Your body is your avatar, and […] you have to try to survive for as long as you can.” 

Kira’s simile serves as a justification for living the bulk of one’s waking life in a computer simulation. Under her rationale, the real world, as humans experience it, feels no less constructed or random than the OASIS’s simulated world. If anything, the OASIS is far more liberating because, there, a person faces virtually no barriers when it comes to shaping their identity. The simile may also be reversed to suggest that humans would be best served by living their true lives as if they are in a video game, handcrafting their avatars and boosting their physical and emotional stats.

“One night, we decided that ‘Space Age Love Song’ by A Flock of Seagulls was our song, and then we listened to it over and over again, for hours, while we talked or made love. Now I couldn’t stand to hear that song anymore. I had it filtered out in my OASIS settings, to ensure that I never heard it again.” 

In a line echoing the 2004 film Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Wade describes using his virtual interface technology to block out potentially upsetting information. This is a troubling aspects of living life on a digital plane, where people are never subject to potentially upsetting or challenging stimuli—which are often necessary for personal growth. There is a clear real-life analogue to Wade’s predicament in how social networks, through both algorithmic and user-driven means, deprecate or block information that may not fit into an individual’s chosen worldview.

“That’s total bullshit, Arty, and you know it. We could turn off the OASIS tomorrow, and it wouldn’t solve any of humanity’s problems. It would just rob people of the only escape they have. […] Growing up in the stacks would have been hell for me if I hadn’t had access to the OASIS. It literally saved my life.” 

One of the book’s major thematic conflicts involves the value and utility of virtual escapism. From a harm-reduction standpoint, Wade is probably correct in arguing that deaths by suicide, homicide, and overdoses are down because of ONI and the OASIS, and therefore the technology should be celebrated. But by allowing users to effectively give up on improving their own lives or the lives of others in the real world, widespread apathy emerges. This quote echoes a somewhat dubious defense commonly cited by technology founders facing criticism over the consequences of their products: They are merely giving the people want they want.

“This had been the case ever since I first found the Copper Key, but it was only after I’d won the contest that the haters came out in force. It made sense, in hindsight. The moment I inherited Halliday’s fortune, I was no longer the scrappy underdog from the stacks doing heroic battle with the Sixers. I was just another asshole billionaire, living a life of ease in his ivory tower.” 

Wade, once a hero to the gunter community, quickly becomes the target of disdain and ridicule after inheriting Halliday’s fortune and control of his company. This mirrors the dynamics seen in how American pop culture frames reality television celebrities—which, in effect, is what Wade has become. While Wade’s fans initially reveled in his mythic rise, viewing it as proof that there is still room in America for upward mobility, he inevitably becomes a part of the same wealthy elite, symbolizing the colossal income gaps that keep the vast majority of Americans in a permanent underclass.

“Human beings were never meant to participate in a worldwide social network comprised of billions of people. We were designed by evolution to be hunter-gatherers, with the mental capacity to interact and socialize with the other members of our tribe—a tribe made up of a few hundred other people at most. [...] Maybe every time an intelligent species grew advanced enough to invent a global computer network, they would then develop some form of social media, which would immediately fill these beings with such an intense hatred for one another that they ended up wiping themselves out within four or five decades.”

Wade references a theory known as the Great Filter, a theoretical barrier that causes any intelligent lifeform to go extinct before it is sufficiently technologically advanced to colonize other worlds. Wade suggests that social media networks—the largest of which is maintained by Wade himself—foster such disunity and acrimony among the human race that they are the downfall of every civilization that ever existed in the galaxy. This notion has found some purchase among real-life tech billionaires, including Tesla CEO Elon Musk, whose futurism-informed ideas can be found throughout Ready Player Two.

“Two-Face was right. You either die a hero, or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain.” 

Using a quote from the 2008 Batman film The Dark Knight, Wade addresses the difficulty he encounters in maintaining his conception of himself as the hero in his own story. Having alienated Art3mis, Og, and billions of former fans, Wade must face the reality that he is much closer in action and spirit to the evil billionaires he once railed against. Now that he is part of the system, Wade becomes more like Halliday: reclusive, resentful, and without professional or personal ethics. At the same time, the quote betrays Wade’s continued tendency to view himself as a victim of circumstances, as if becoming a villain was somehow inevitable.

“Some people were convinced that they were special, and that their brains could handle fourteen or even sixteen hours of consecutive ONI usage with no ill side effects—and a few of them actually could, for a day or two. But when they pushed their luck too far, they ended up lobotomizing themselves. And that was very bad for business.” 

This showcases how leading a giant corporation severely damaged Wade’s ability to empathize. His first thought when considering the irreversible brain damage caused by his products is that it is “bad for business.” Yet given the unlikelihood that Art3mis, Aech, or Shoto would express this kind of statement, it’s worth wondering how much of Wade’s callousness is a product of feeding corporate incentives and how much reflects his broader immaturity.

“Numerous studies have shown a drastic increase in empathy and environmental conservation among daily ONI users, along with an overwhelming drop in racist, sexist, and homophobic ideologies. […] For the first time in human history, we have technology that gives us the ability to live in someone else’s skin for a little while.” 

This is the most promising application of ONI, from a humanitarian perspective. The ability for people to see, feel, and interact with the world through the mind of individuals living under far different circumstances than their own is an undeniable opportunity to foster empathy and unity. Interestingly, this directly flies in the face of Wade’s contention that social media platforms—even ones as immersive as the OASIS—foster resentment and disunity. This may be because, as on real-life 21st-century social networks, users tend to congregate with likeminded individuals, ensconcing themselves in a virtual echo chamber despite the near-endless range of voices from underrepresented communities on the Internet.

“For the first time in human history, anyone eighteen years of age or older could safely and easily experience sexual intercourse with any gender and as any gender. This tended to alter their perception of gender identity and fluidity in profound ways. It had certainly altered mine. And I was certain it had done the same thing for every other ONI user with even a mildly adventurous spirit. Thanks to the OASIS Neural Interface, your gender and your sexuality were no longer constrained by—or confined to—the physical body you happened to be born into.” 

Like its ability to foster empathy, the opportunities ONI poses to experience sexuality from any number of gender identities is framed as an unambiguous public good. In Wade’s telling, ONI breaks down heteronormative barriers by allowing users to experience the joys and pleasures one might feel across a virtually endless number of sexual contexts, thus reducing sexual hang-ups, as well as homophobia, transphobia, and other anti-LGBTQIA+ bigotries. While it is true that ONI’s ability to provide a safe space for sexual experimentation is an unalloyed good, it is unclear if most other users like Wade, who weren’t previously open to non-heteronormativity, would experience similar epiphanies. Moreover, Wade’s later assertion that ONI taught him that all sexual experiences are fundamentally the same can come off as diminishing the complexities of queer and straight sex alike.

“You poisoned your own planet, destroyed its climate, defiled its ecosystem, and killed off all of its biodiversity. You’re going to be extinct soon, too, by your hands. And you know it. That’s why most of you spend every second you can wired up to the OASIS. You’ve already given up, and now you’re all just waiting around to die.” 

Spoken by Anorak, this is one of the stronger rebukes to Wade’s belief that ONI is a vital form of escapism in a crumbling world. While much of the environmental damage described here would have existed prior to the advent of the OASIS, with everyone living in virtual spaces, there is no one left to advocate on behalf of real-world issues. Moreover, the notion that individuals can’t harm the environment when they are in the OASIS is a specious claim, given the significant carbon footprint left by the server farms and data centers that store and process all the information needed to maintain the virtual world.

“As I watched Mr. Johnson/John Hughes scoop up his morning paper and then shuffle back into his house, I couldn’t help but be reminded of Anorak—the digital ghost of a dead creator, left behind to forever haunt his own creation.”

This raises questions about whether the characters’ ultimate conceit—creating digital copies of the deceased to live on in virtual space forever—is an idea worth embracing. Despite the OASIS’s endless possibilities, Anorak seems to spend most of his time reliving the traumas and regrets of his past life. By linking Anorak to John Hughes, stuck inside the fictional suburb of his movies, Wade implies that the pursuit of nostalgia to which he and his friends commit themselves may be an equally empty endeavor.

“‘I hate this place,’ Aech said, shaking her head as she took in our surroundings. ‘It’s like being stuck in the Matrix. With the Brat Pack.’” 

Unlike Wade and Art3mis, Aech, a Black queer woman, rarely watched John Hughes movies growing up and is thus eager to leave the Shermer planet. Though she never explicitly explains why, it is worth pointing out that Hughes’s films—like many popular mainstream films of the 80s—score poor marks in terms of queer and non-white representation. There is an ugly side to many of the pop culture artifacts that play central roles in the book—including The Lord of the Rings, which is continually debated regarding its attitudes on race. Aech’s dismissive attitude toward the Shermer planet is an acknowledgement of that ugly side.

“‘Poor Duckie?’ Art3mis repeated, aghast. ‘Don’t you mean poor Andie? She takes pity on the guy because she knows he’s struggling with his own sexual identity, and that he doesn’t have any other friends. And how does Duckie repay her sympathy and kindness? By ignoring her boundaries, hounding her twenty-four-seven, and humiliating her in public every chance he gets. And check out how he treats other women when Andie isn’t around.’” 

Despite her nostalgic love for John Hughes films, Art3mis is clear-eyed about the misogyny that often went uncommented upon in movies from that era. She walks a thin line between adoring the pop culture she loved as a child and acknowledging the ways many of these films and television shows reinforce sexist or racist ideas. Interestingly, Art3mis does not elaborate on a popular theory among many fans of Pretty in Pink—including Molly Ringwald herself—that Duckie was written and portrayed as a closeted gay man.

“Doing a drug via ONI playback wasn’t the same as shooting it into your own bloodstream. It felt the same, but it didn’t cause the same long-term damage or physical addiction symptoms. And it removed the risk of accidental death. So ONI recordings allowed me to experience the same high my mother had, without destroying my brain and my body in the process. I didn’t find it all that enlightening.” 

While inside the OASIS, Wade uses heroin, the drug that took his mother’s life and which, in his mind, she chose over her own son. Though ONI allows Wade to experience the basic physical sensations of using the drug, it does not allow him to experience whatever psychological effect may have been associated with her addiction—to say nothing of the misery of withdrawal. Thus, Wade only exacerbates the grief he feels over her loss.

“‘Don’t you kids ever get tired of picking through the wreckage of a past generation’s nostalgia?’ He stretched his arms out wide. ‘I mean, look around. The entire OASIS is like one giant graveyard, haunted by the undead pop-culture icons of a bygone era. A crazy old man’s shrine to a bunch of pointless crap.’” 

It is fitting that the author puts this scathing indictment of nostalgia in the mouth of Nolan Sorrento, the series’ least sympathetic character. The fact that Sorrento delivers this line in the Afterworld is undercut by the fact that Aech looked to Prince and his music as an inspiration and lifeblood, even as she struggled to come out to her homophobic mother, making it far from pointless.

“‘Why do you think Kira was so nuts about Middle-earth?’ Aech asked me as we continued to gallop through the dark forest. ‘Pure, uncut escapism,’ I said. ‘Tolkien’s work directly inspired the creation of Dungeons & Dragons. And then D&D, in turn, inspired the first generation of videogame designers, who tried to re-create the experience of playing D&D on a computer. Kira, Og, and Halliday—they all grew up playing D&D and the videogames inspired by it. And that inspired all of them to make computer role-playing games. That’s how we got the Anorak’s Quest series, and eventually, the OASIS. If it weren’t for Tolkien, all of us nerds would’ve had a lot less fun during the last ninety years.’” 

Cline includes this brief love letter to Tolkien to emphasize how important he believes the English author is in shaping nerd culture in the 20th and 21st centuries. Having established modern fantasy literature, Tolkien inspired countless other creators of media, including tabletop games, video games, comic books, film, and television. Perhaps most importantly, by influencing Dungeons & Dragons, Tolkien inspired everyday youths with no connection to publishers or the world of media to tell their own stories, thus establishing the interactive, egalitarian nature of nerd culture at its best and most inclusive.

“What must it have been like for Halliday, experiencing those memories himself? Seeing Og and Kira’s love firsthand, and himself as the sad, obsessed outsider? […] Had he chosen these moments to punish himself? Or, perhaps, to ensure that whoever awakened Kira fully understood the crimes he’d committed against her, and the depth of his wrongdoing?”

The question of why Halliday chose the six flashbacks Wade experiences is left unanswered. Aside from the final flashback, which functions as a confession of his appalling invasion of Kira’s mind, the other flashbacks tell the story of Kira and Og’s love. This speaks to Halliday’s disturbed mindset toward the end of his life, as all of the wealth and power he accrued amounted to little in the face of unrequited love.

“Certainly, I felt closer to Kira now, more aware of her as a human being and an artist. And I saw James Donovan Halliday far more clearly too. He had undeniably been a genius, but until just one day ago, I’d viewed him as a benevolent one, whose brilliance and inventiveness had only elevated humanity. Now it was impossible to deny that he had also been a profoundly fucked-up human being. Immoral. Disturbed. Emotionally detached. A techno-hermit who had betrayed the trust of his two best friends in the world.” 

Up to this point in the book series, Halliday’s actions have been questionable and even toxic, though never so egregious that Wade cut himself off completely from his appreciation of the late investor. However, Halliday’s invasion of Kira’s mind finally crosses a line that not even Wade can forgive. This is also an important turning point for Wade, whose own reclusiveness and resentment had begun to resemble Halliday’s, putting him on a terribly wrong path—especially considering his invasion of L0hengrin’s privacy.

“The mind is the only thing about human beings that’s worth anything. […] No wonder people can’t get anything done, stuck for life with a parasite that has to be stuffed with food and protected from weather and germs all the time. And the fool thing wears out anyway—no matter how much you stuff and protect it!”

It is extraordinarily telling that the author co-opts a line from “Unready to Wear,” a satirical short story by Kurt Vonnegut, to support digital Wade’s posthuman-transhumanistic ethos. Broadly speaking, posthuman-transhumanism involves the development of technologies—like the ONI resurrection wand—that would allow human consciousnesses to live on indefinitely, divorced from the human. However, there is little in Vonnegut’s story to suggest Vonnegut believes such transhuman consciousness is a desirable state of being; in fact, the portrait Vonnegut paints is hardly a utopia.

“It was always hard to get through to Jim with words. But then he started using the ONI to play back my memories. The ultimate invasion of my privacy. But strangely enough, that was what finally allowed Jim to understand me […] It gave him something he’d always been lacking—empathy. Then he was horrified by what he’d done. He saw himself as a monster. He apologized to me. He also offered to try to make it up to me.” 

Ironically, Halliday’s appalling violation of Kira’s brain that him to feel empathy—another indicator of ONI’s potential to bring people together. This quote also recasts Halliday’s decision for choosing those six flashbacks. Rather than stand as evidence of the darkness encroaching on his psyche, it instead implies that his intent was to celebrate of Kira and Og’s love.

“Witnessing these two impossible, blissful reunions filled me with joy too. Genuine, unbridled joy. And I wasn’t playing back an ONI recording of secondhand joy experienced by someone else, somewhere else, at some time in the past. It was my own, hard-won and earned at great personal cost. Humanity had just become the recipient of another strange and wonderful and unexpected gift—one that would change the very nature of our existence, even more than the OASIS or the ONI ever had.” 

Wade has a powerful epiphany while watching Art3mis, El3vyn, Og, and Kira reunite. It is arguably stronger than Halliday’s because it occurs without the benefit of experiencing someone else’s feelings through ONI. This suggests that, despite ONI’s capacity to engender empathy, the interface may still be inferior to real-life human interaction.

“We were witnessing the dawn of the posthuman era. The Singularity by way of simulacra and simulation. One final gift to human civilization from the troubled-but-brilliant mind of James Donovan Halliday. He had delivered all of us unto this digital paradise, but his own tragic flaws had prevented him from passing through its gates himself.” 

The glee with which digital Wade welcomes “the posthuman era” suggests that the book supports his side of the debate with Art3mis about the best use of human resources and technology. In a posthuman society, all that is needed is a spaceship carrying the digital consciousness of every human who ever lived, ultimately rendering Art3mis’s efforts to address climate change and global poverty a waste of time.